


Sacrifice

by Kawaiicoyote



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Magic Stiles, My tags suck I know, Sacrifice, Turn back while you still can, Warehouse, What Was I Thinking?, i don't even know where this came from, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiicoyote/pseuds/Kawaiicoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deaton once told him that all he needed was a spark and belief.<br/>Looking at the bodies of his pack, of his second family, he has the spark.<br/>The pure rush of power running through him gives him the belief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure any of this makes a whole bunch of sense. I wrote this last night and didn't know it would take such a drastic turn.  
> Please don't hate me.

He’s shaking.

There’s a visible tremor running though his limbs.

It’s physical embodiment of rage and anger and bone deep sorrow.

He’s in the middle of the circle, a morbid loose circle of bodies, bodies that are too still and lie at wrong angles. They’re just _so still_.

He stares at them and wills them to wake up. He wants to pretend they’re only covered in red and black paint. But he cannot delude himself to the truth as he stares at the wounds, no longer completely bleeding red but oozing black.

They’re all out for display in the middle of the abandoned warehouse. Laughter and snickering echoes and bounces off the tin walls. The smell of blood and death and gunpowder hangs stale in the air.

Faintly, so faint that if he hadn’t been straining to notice any signs of life he would have missed it, the sound of wet wheezing reaches his ears.

Frantically his eyes search for the source of the sound as he spins around.

His eyes stop on Isaac.

Isaac’s on his back staring up at the warehouse ceiling, his blue eyes are unfocused. His breathing is nothing more than a shallow wheeze that rattles nosily. Stiles wants to go to him, to give him some kind of comfort, but he’s frozen in place.

He watches Isaac. Watches the way his throat moves uselessly to swallow despite the bullet wound at the dead center of his throat that oozes black. Poison spider veins outwards from the bullet wound, thick rivulets of black that snake out over Isaac’s pale skin like ink has been poured over him.

Blackness seeps from the corners of his mouth, a sign of how his body is trying to heal itself but can’t.

Stiles watches as he starts to wheeze harder and cough. He watches as Isaac’s fingers curl and uncurl at his sides, nails turning into claws that dig into the concrete then shift back to broken and bloodied human nails.

Then his chest stops just moving. The wheezing stops. The light in his eyes fades, leaving behind blue glass that remains staring at the ceiling.

Isaac doesn’t look peaceful. He looks terrified, even in death.

All around him his pack lies, all unmoving.

He can hear the hunters shouting and laughing at him. They’re just playing with him now. The last one standing, the weakest link made to watch his friends die.

Something inside Stiles snaps.

Energy crackles in the air. It shoots up Stiles fingertips, leaving a wave of pins and needles singing through his nerve endings.

He slowly turns taking in his pack. They all were trying to protect him in the end. Each of them shielding him from the hunter’s attacks.

Anger and sorrow boils through him. The energy turning the pins and needles into a fire.

It hurts but he doesn’t care.

Deaton once told him that all he needed was a spark and belief.

Looking at the bodies of his pack, of his second family, he has the spark.

The pure rush of power running through him gives him the belief.

Stile breathes deep, the shaking in his limbs growing.

The stillness of the air is broken as a breeze begins to blow; the ground begins to shake and rattles the whole building.

The amused laughter of the hunters begins to die off.

A chain of events begins to happen as Stiles focuses.

The shaking of the ground intensifies, the wind becomes violent. Stiles is at the center of it, a cyclone of dirt and dust and none of it touches him.

Angry shouting meets his ears over the roar of the wind.

They’re getting scared.

He can hear their fear and panic when the shouts start turning to screams. The doors aren’t opening and Stiles allows himself a smile, just a quirk to the corner of his mouth, despite the tears that are slipping down his face.

He’s so scared.

He lets his mind think of happier times. To lacrosse practice with Isaac, Scott, Jackson, and Boyd. To Erica painting his toenails canary yellow. To Allison throwing marshmallows in his face at the last pack bonfire. To Lydia dragging him out shopping and him pretending to hate it. To hearing Derek’s genuine laugh for the first time.

Stiles clings to those happy memories. He clings to them and thinks of his dad. It makes pain seize his heart at what he’s about to do. But then he knows that his dad will have Melissa. She’ll be there to pick up the pieces. To makes sure he doesn’t drink himself into oblivion. Yeah, in the end they’ll both be okay. Eventually.

Taking a shaky breath that’s more of a sob Stiles closes his eyes and lets go. He unleashes the power and it surges through him like a coke bottle that’s been shaken and finally blows its top.

It hurts, Stiles realize. It feels like he’s being electrocuted and it burns. A scream rips through him but is overpowered by the noise of the wind and the collapsing of the warehouse around him.

He screams himself hoarse, but then the pain stops.

For a brief moment there’s weightlessness to him. It’s quiet and warm and peaceful.

He opens his eyes and the pack is there. They all look normal, not bloodied or pained. They look happy to see him.

For a moment they stand, staring at each other with dopey smiles, and then wordlessly they part, revealing someone he hadn’t even noticed was there.

She moves forward, long brown hair spilling around her shoulders, framing a smiling round face. She looks exactly how he remembered her before she’d gotten sick.

His mother offers her hand and he takes it without question.

Stiles closes his eyes again and for another moment the pain and the chaos engulfs him. But he sighs and completely let’s go of everything.

His breath stops just as the warehouse collapses.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *twiddles thumbs* I'm not really expecting feedback for this but it would be nice.


End file.
